


All You Need to Know is

by HamPalpert



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Insecurities, Cameos from Liam and Zayn, New Year's Eve, Personal Trainer Harry, Radio personality Louis, Semi-Public Sex, acquaintances with benefits, fitness, lifestyle changes, radio personality Niall, underweight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamPalpert/pseuds/HamPalpert
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HIATUSRecovering from a breakup, Louis Tomlinson embarks on a fitness journey to show his ex what he’s missing.  Enter Harry Styles, personal trainer, who’s willing to go above and beyond to satisfy his new client.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 65
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from /Temporary Fix/ by One Direction. 
> 
> Thanks to J and K for the beta work!

So, Louis, have you worked with a personal trainer before?” Beth, the woman behind the desk, smiles at him, pen poised over his paperwork. 

Louis tugs the zipper on his hoodie up and down. “Erm, I played football in secondary school. There was a fitness coordinator who helped us. Other than that, no.”

“That’s great,” she says, ticking off a box on the sheet. “I find that former athletes have good muscle memory. Easier to get back in the swing of things.”

Louis’s not sure that a few years of football at school and the occasional kick-about on the weekends qualifies him as a former athlete, but he doesn’t correct her. 

Beth asks, “And what would you say is your overall goal? Lose a few pounds? Tone up?”

Louis’s surprised. He’s not looking to lose. He thinks he might be a little _under_ weight, even. It’s a habit of his, to forget to eat when he’s busy.

“Are you calling me fat?” he teases. It’s a crutch, using humor to mask his discomfort.

It doesn’t land. Beth’s eyes go buggy. “Oh! Oh, no, of course not. It’s just— on the sheet—“

“I’m sorry,” he hastens to apologize. “Sorry. Bad joke. Tone up, definitely. Bulk up, even. If that’s on there.”

Beth laughs awkwardly, cheeks reddening. Well, now he feels bad. “Bulk up. Got it. You might be a great match for Mark or Gary.” 

Automatically, Louis turns his head to look at the amateur headshots of the personal trainers lined up on the wall. Barrell-neck Mark grins back at him. Gary, more subdued, has biceps bulging out of his tight polo. They’re equally intimidating.

“How often would you like to train?” Beth asks him. “We offer weekly, twice a week, or three times weekly.”

Louis does the maths quickly. Sixteen weeks until Christmas. “Three times weekly, please.”

“Brilliant. Does this time of day work best for you?”

“No, actually. Today’s a rare day off. It’ll have to be early afternoons if I can.”

Beth frowns. “Oh.” She turns to her computer. “Well, that complicates things just a bit. Most of our trainers work early mornings or in the evenings, to accommodate more traditional work schedules. Mark’s our morning guy, and Gary does evenings.”

Louis’s shoulders slump. He’d been counting on a trainer, despite his nerves. He’ll never have the drive to work out on his own.

“But–” Beth says. “–it looks like Harry is available. Could you do Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 2:00?”

Louis glances at the photographs again. Harry’s on the far right of the wall, dimpling at the camera. He’s wearing a gym-issued windbreaker, so Louis isn’t sure about the muscle situation. He’s less scary than Mark or Gary, but he looks fit. Handsome. He’s also got a man bun. God, Louis hopes he won’t have to learn yoga.

“Sure.”

Beth beams. “Great! We offer a 10 day, money-back guarantee if you’re unhappy with the quality of your training, and of course, if it isn’t a good fit we’ll be happy to work with you to make it right. How will you be paying today?” 

“Erm, gift card.” He feels a bit stupid, handing it over, because paying for a gym membership with a gift card clearly sends the message that this wasn’t his idea. But Beth takes the card from him without comment, then leaves the office to run it. When she returns, she offers to show him around the gym.

It’s a nice place. New and clean, with large inclusive posters of people of all shapes, ages, and colours on the walls. The music is loud and energetic over the clanking of the machines. The weight machines and racks are on the ground floor, cardio machines, and group workout rooms on the upper floor. There’s a running track overlooking the weight area.

“Harry’s just finishing up with someone if you’d like to meet him,” Beth offers, gesturing to a row of stair-steppers, one of which the man himself is leaning casually against. Louis pushes down the anxiety that’s been simmering just beneath the surface all day. Although he knows he won’t be a complete laughingstock, it’s still been hard to take this leap and start bettering himself, especially given the stakes. And it doesn’t help that his trainer-to-be is extremely hot, much more so than his photograph lets on. He’s chatting with a pretty blonde woman in far too tight leggings as she moves at such a glacial pace she can’t even be breaking a sweat. As they approach, he throws his head back in loud laughter, touching her on the elbow as he does so.

“Are you sure we should bother him?” Louis deadpans. “He looks terribly busy.”

Beth laughs, but her smile is a little tight. Perhaps this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls. “Have you got a minute? I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Harry’s smile freezes on his face for the briefest of moments as he registers the two onlookers. He composes himself quickly, stepping away from the woman to meet them in the middle.

“Hey, Beth,” he says. “Christina’s just finishing up her cool down.”

“Great,” Beth says shortly. “Harry, this is Louis. He’s your new two o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

Harry’s eyebrows go up in surprise as he gives Louis a surreptitious once-over. “Oh! Erm, great.” He wipes his hand on his windbreaker, then holds it out to shake. His dimple is very distracting. “Great to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” Louis reiterates, returning the handshake. His pulse quickens under his skin. He’s going to make a fool out of himself twice a week in front of this man. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, it’s—“ Harry waves a hand in the air, shuffling his feet. “—as I said. Cool down.”

“Louis’s looking to bulk up,” Beth shares helpfully.

“Oh,” Harry says again. “Well, that’s— great! I’m looking forward to it. Good way to end my day.”

“Great,” Louis repeats. He gives Beth a look. She doesn’t make eye contact. “See you soon, then.”

“Right,” Harry nods. “Just a few days away. You can tell me more about you then. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Harry waves awkwardly, then turns and lopes away, back to his current client, who’d been openly watching them over her shoulder.

Louis scratches the back of his neck. “What did you say your money-back policy was?”

“Harry’s great,” Beth says quickly, sensing his unease. Apparently, it’s the word of the day today. “He’s a really popular trainer.”

“Right, I get that,” Louis agrees, watching as an older woman swats him with her towel cheekily on her way by. “How do I—it sort of seems like he’d be a better fit for a woman?”

“Women are his primary clientele,” Beth admits, “but he’s a professional. I’ve seen him do great things for people.”

Louis concedes, still feeling uneasy. He tells himself it’s mostly because his brain is looking for any excuse to get out of this. He’ll have to pump himself up for Monday. Maybe watch some more of those motivational YouTube montages of fit men lifting out.

—

“Well, Niall, I’ve done it,” Louis says into his microphone a few hours later. They’re nearly through with today’s radio show and have just got to finish the puff piece bit at the end. “I’ve gone and cashed in your gift certificate.”

Niall gasps in shock, even though they’d cooked up this talking point ahead of time. “You haven’t! Finally going to run more than just your mouth, eh? For those of you who are new to our show, Louis is famously lazy.”

“Oi’,” Louis objects in jest. “You’ve got to admit, lounging around watching telly is objectively better than using the treadmill. Speaking of...” he addresses the listeners, “We’ve got to pick a new show to binge watch together. Send us your suggestions, and no, you cannot trick me into watching a season of Love Island again.”

“You were invested in the end!” Niall insists, laughing. “Don’t act like you hated it. But anyway,” he picks up the dropped topic, “Louis’s been going on and on about wanting to firm up a bit, get fit. And I mean _on and on._ I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I got him a gift certificate for a personal trainer.”

“So, I’ve put it off for months, right? Then the other night- and this is a bit personal— I got naked, as one does before a shower, and took a really good look at myself. And I just thought I looked—“

“Like Captain America before he was injected with super-soldier serum?” Niall jibes.

Louis gasps theatrically. Niall’s only taking the piss, but that one stings a bit. “That may be the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me, Niall. I could still kick your arse.”

“He does fight dirty,” Niall muses into his mic.

“To make a very long story short, I’ve now got myself a trainer. The ‘get fit’ box on my New Year's resolution list is firmly on its way to being ticked.”

Niall chortles. “Just in time for next year’s resolution list! Perhaps share some before and after pics with our listeners?”

Louis laughs. “Not likely.”

“Call or tweet the show to tell us if you’ve ever worked with a trainer and how it went. More importantly, tell us who you think would win in a fight between me and Lou.”

“Careful, Niall, the truth hurts.” It’s a running joke amongst their fans. Every time they put out a survey between the two of them, Louis always wins by a landslide, no matter what the topic. 

After a bit more back and forth, they sign off for the night. Their radio show had begun as a podcast in uni for shooting the shit, which had stemmed from a wildly popular, jointly-run, parody Instagram account, in which they artfully took influencer-worthy photos of poor university student meals, like tinned beans on crackers and pot noodles. Over the years, they’d amassed a small but mighty cult following, and now that they’re being broadcasted by an international satellite channel, things have picked up. Enough that they can each afford to no longer eat tinned beans on crackers.

“I know it’s all banter, but I am proud of you,” Niall tells him as he winds up the cord of his headphones. “Can’t be easy putting yourself out there like that, for the judgment of a complete stranger.”

Louis huffs, flustered. “It’s not like I’m _dating_ the guy.”

“Right, that’s next on the list.”

Louis shuts his computer a bit too hard. “Not interested.”

“Not interested in the trainer?” Niall jokes. “He a minger?”

“No, actually, he’s extremely fucking fit,” Louis says. “It might be a problem. I’m not sure it’s a good match.”

Niall squeezes his elbow. “Come on, Lou. Give it a chance! You really want this, yeah? How many weeks ‘til Christmas?”

“Sixteen,” Louis says. “Enough time for a full transformation.”

Niall grins. “Peter won’t know what hit him. For the record, I still say fuck ‘em.”

“Yeah, fuck ‘em,” Louis agrees. “I’ll show him what he’s missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The fic post!](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/640152673138704384/all-you-need-to-know-is-by-hampalpert-recovering)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to K for the beta work!

Louis enters the gym at 2 o’clock on the dot, only to find Harry standing at reception, ostensibly waiting for him. He’s wearing his gym-issued windbreaker again, and a pair of ankle-length workout tights under basketball shorts. He glances Louis’s way when he sidles up next to him and scans his brand new ID badge, then does a double-take.

“Louis! I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hi, Harry,” Louis says. He’d given himself a pep talk on the way to the gym, to keep an open mind and put in full effort, at least for the first week.

They stare at one another. Harry swallows. Shuffles his feet. It’s both comforting and concerning to see that he seems as nervous as Louis is.

“Well, let me show you to the locker room, so you can put your bag down.”

“Thanks,” Louis says. He’d checked it out last time he was here, but he follows Harry anyway.

“So, Louis, what do you do?”

“I run a radio show with a mate from uni.”

“Oh, wow,” Harry says. “What programme?”

“Tommo Times,” Louis says. “It’s just topical stuff. Sports, pop culture. Sometimes politics if we’re feeling brave,” Louis adds with a laugh, and Harry laughs along with him. “You’ve probably never heard of it, but we do have a spot on satellite radio. Most of our fans are international.”

“That’s really cool,” Harry says. “So you’re like, sort of famous.”

Louis laughs. “Hardly. Doubt even the most ardent of fans would recognize me.”

“I’ll have to check it out sometime,” Harry says pleasantly, in the way one does when they’ve got no intention of doing so. Louis’s used to that reaction. It’s probably better that way. “Here’s the men’s locker room,” he announces, leading Louis into the large room. “You can put your things into one of the daytime lockers over here. You can lock it if you like, but if you leave it overnight they threaten to cut them off.” He lowers his voice, “Between you and me, I’ve never seen that happen, so you’d probably be good for a few days.”

Louis chuckles. “Thanks for the tip.” He toes out of his street shoes and sets his bag on the bench, digging for his very-obviously-brand-new workout trainers. 

“Showers and toilets are back that way,” Harry gestures. “There’re separate toilets on each level, too.”

“Great,” Louis says. He pushes down his sweats, then bends to pull the elastic ankle over his feet.

“Um,” Harry says. “I forgot my clipboard in the office. Meet you outside.”

“Oh–okay,” Louis says belatedly. Harry’s already gone. He looks down at himself, just to make sure his willy isn’t hanging out or something. His elastic shorts are exactly where they should be. 

So Harry’s a bit quirky.

When Louis emerges from the locker room, Harry is waiting for him, clipboard in hand, measuring tape around his neck.

“If you don’t mind, Louis, we’ll head into the office for a few measurements. So we can have good ‘before data’. Afterwards, we’ll do a quick strength and fitness assessment, and you’ll be on your way.”

“Sure thing,” Louis says evenly, as his blood pumps a little faster. There’s no way this won’t be embarrassing. 

They step into the office where Louis’d done his intake. Harry fusses with the measuring tape. “I’ll do your biceps, chest, calves, and thighs. And waist, if you like.”

Louis nods. “As long as you don’t laugh,” he jokes, to hide his apprehension.

Harry’s eyes bore into his. They’re an interesting sage green colour. “I would never.”

Louis chuckles, just to fill in the awkward silence. 

“Flex please,” Harry requests. Louis hesitates, just for a second, to do as he’s told. He’s sure Harry’s seen worse, but still, a hot man is inspecting his less-than-beach-bod-worthy form. “In your file, it says that you’re a footballer?”

“I wouldn’t go nearly that far,” Louis says, relaxing his arm as Harry removes the tape. “Played in school. I get together with my mates on the weekends sometimes. It’s just fun.”

“Do you do any other sort of exercise programme at the moment?”

“Well,” Louis says, “I took up jogging for a bit. Hated it, by the way. Please don’t make me do that.” 

Harry laughs but makes no promises.

“But honestly,” Louis goes on, swallowing. Harry’s crouched by his groin now, taking the thigh measurement. The hairs on Louis’s legs stand at attention. “When I was running, it felt like I was losing weight rather than gaining muscle.”

“Could be diet-related,” Harry muses, looking up at him from his kneeling position. Louis quickly averts his eyes. “Some people just don’t put away enough calories, especially when they’re doing an intense programme. Do you eat a good three meals a day?”

“Erm…” Louis stalls. “I always eat dinner.”

“I’ve got homework for you, then,” Harry says, standing. He winds the tape around Louis’s waist. They’re only a few inches apart from one another, chests nearly touching. Harry smells clean and minty. Louis probably smells like the Nando’s bag in his car he’s been meaning to bin. “I’d like you to journal everything you eat for the week. Just eat the way you normally would. Then we can analyze it together.”

“Okay,” Louis says, quieter than he’d intended. Harry smiles, then steps back, out of his personal space. 

“That’s all I need.”

“Don’t you want to weigh me?” Louis asks, gesturing to the electronic scale in the corner.

“I don’t typically. I’ve found that most of my clients don’t want to know. It’s more important how their body feels.”

“Well, I haven’t got one at home,” Louis says. “So if you don’t mind, I’d sort of like to know.”

Harry nods, then busies himself with the clipboard, presumably to give him privacy. It’s sweet of him, and rather unexpected- though, he supposes Harry is used to training women, who can be particular about the number on a scale.

12.2 stone. He’s not sure if he was expecting more or less, but it’s disappointing just the same.

He turns round to glance at Harry, who’s still writing down his measurements on the clipboard- or pretending to, anyway. He looks up when he feels Louis’s eyes on him. “All set?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, stepping off the scale. 

Harry drops the clipboard to his side. “Ready to get to the fun part?”

Louis groans. “That depends on how sore I’ll be in the morning.”

“It’s not worth it if you don’t feel it at least a little the next day,” Harry says cheerfully, “Let’s head upstairs and get you on a treadmill.”

—

“And then,” Louis explains that evening to Niall and their listeners, in what’s officially become their wrap-up segment of the night, “after I finished doing all his little tests, he decided I have to track my exercise as well.”

“Isn’t that pretty standard?” Niall wonders.

“Not the way he said it. He was like, ‘Actually, why don’t you track your movement for the next week as well, so we can see what we’re dealing with.’ See what we’re dealing with.” Louis throws up his hands. “As if he thinks I laze about all day.”

Niall snorts derisively. “Well, let’s have a look, then. What have you got so far?” He peers over to Louis’s side of the desk. “Tommo, you’ve written that you’ve had two Red Bulls and a bowl of cereal today.”

“I haven’t yet added in the stroopwafel!” Their weekly snack from around the world, this time courtesy of a fan in the Netherlands, had been particularly delicious tonight, unlike many of the others. “It’s not yet supper time.”

Niall snatches the notepad from his hand. “And under exercise, you’ve put ‘took stairs instead of lift at the office!’ We don’t even have a lift!”

Louis yanks it back. “All the better. It’ll look like I had a choice in the matter.”

Niall shakes his head. “He’s in for it with you, mate.”

“Moving on...” Louis says, turning up his nose theatrically. “Thanks to you lot who’ve shared your experiences with personal trainers a few shows ago. Some good tips, too. My favorite was from Natalie in America, who said she farted so loudly during downward dog that after her lesson was through, she never went back. Think of it this way, Natalie,” he addresses his listener, “Yoga is so dull that you probably made everyone’s day.”

“Here’s another good one...” Niall scrolls through the saved comments on the screen. “From Jaime in Leeds. ‘Pro-tip: Don’t sleep with him, no matter how much you may want to. It ruined my marriage.’” Niall grimaces, delighted. “Sounds like a strong contender for _Teatime Tuesday_ right there.”

Louis snorts. “Don’t worry, Jaime from Leeds. Not a chance of that. I’m afraid every woman in the entire gym would claw my eyes out if I so much as blinked at him.”

“Ah, the Casanova type,” Niall muses. “Some men have all the luck.”

“Four times, we were interrupted by different women popping by for a chat.” Harry’d been pretty professional, actually. Perhaps it was due to Louis’s presence, but he rebuffed all of them fairly quickly each time it happened, turning his full attention back to Louis. Overall the session had been a bit awkward, but not nearly as terrible as Louis’d prepared for.

“Well, just because the birds like him don’t mean he’s not into blokes,” Niall reminds him.

Louis hums in agreement, but shoots Niall a look. This conversation is getting dangerously close to the line they’ve drawn between ‘radio life’ and ‘private life’. “It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m not looking for a relationship.” He’s tried a few times since Peter dumped him on Valentine’s Day, but he’s not quite ready yet.

“No one said anything about a _relationship,”_ Niall says saucily, waggling his brows.

“Don’t encourage them,” Louis groans. “God save me from the state of my DMs tomorrow. Remember, friends, if you send me dick pics, I will publicly shame you.”

Niall pouts. “How come you’re the one who gets the naughty DMs?”

“Because I’m the hot one, Niall. Everyone says so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The fic post!](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/640152673138704384/all-you-need-to-know-is-by-hampalpert-recovering)


	3. Chapter 3

“Squat lower,” Harry urges from behind him. “Be sure your knees don’t go over your ankles.”

Louis breathes through the discomfort, doing as he’s told. 

“Ten more,” Harry encourages. “If they don’t feel near impossible to finish in the end, we need to add more weight.”

Louis grunts, counting down in his head.

“That’s it,” Harry encourages. “Nice and low.”

Louis groans in relief when he finishes, setting the weights down with a clank. “That sucked.”

“Sixty seconds of rest until the next set.” Harry looks down at his watch. “Don’t sit down.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes. “Probably couldn’t if I wanted to. Gonna look like I took a pounding last night.”

Harry lifts his eyes to Louis’s so fast, he may have given himself whiplash.

Louis freezes. It was a crude joke his friends would’ve laughed at, but probably not something to say in front of his trainer.

But Harry laughs so loudly, even the bloke across the floor from them with the headphones on looks up. “Yeah, probably,” he agrees. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll even grow to like it.” And then he winks. “Sixty seconds of rest is over. Pick up those weights.”

Taken aback, it takes Louis a second to get into gear. This time around, the burn in his glutes and quads starts almost immediately. 

“Lower,” Harry urges. “Think about your _‘why’.”_

“My _‘why?’”_ Louis grits out. “Fuck, how many more?”

“Ten,” Harry says. “Your _‘why’_ is your reason for being here. You said you wanted to get ripped. Tell me why.”

“Bulk up,” Louis corrects on an exhale. Three. Two. One. Finally. “It’s a revenge bod.” He’d intended to dodge any similar questions if asked, but the truth just popped out.

“Revenge bod,” Harry repeats. “For who?”

Louis wipes his forehead with the towel Harry hands him, then says, as neutrally as possible. “My ex.”

Harry crosses his arms and shifts his weight. “You’re getting fit to get back at your ex? What for?”

Louis gulps down some water. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Because he told me I never would, and I want to prove him wrong.”

“But you’ve already got a great body,” Harry says. “You’ve got nice thighs and a great arse. I’d fatten you up a bit myself, but–“ he stops short, eyes wide.

The blood pulses through Louis’s veins just a bit harder. Harry can’t possibly mean that the way it came out. Or he did, and he’s just (inappropriately) trying to be a supportive trainer.

“Looks like your job is done here, then,” Louis jokes, winking. Taking it too far always eases the awkwardness.

Harry laughs, ducking his head. “Maybe.”

Louis catches his expression when he turns back toward the mirror, and promptly wipes the grin off his face. He’s flirting with his personal trainer. It was inevitable, given Harry’s sheer hotness, but he hadn’t expected to get the vibes in return.

Then he remembers the way Harry touched that client’s arm the day they met, and he snaps out of it.

“Was that more than sixty seconds?” he prompts.

“Huh? Oh, shit.” Harry shakes his head, glancing at his watch. “Yeah. Finish the set.”

Louis turns back to the weights, grateful for the distraction even as he dreads the work. Harry chooses the exact moment he begins to speak again.

“So that’s really why you’re here?” he asks. “To get revenge on an ex?”

“Yup,” Louis breathes. He wishes he hadn’t brought it up. Hopefully his further silence will keep Harry from asking anything more.

“Alright,” Harry says after a beat, back in trainer mode. “If you really want to bulk up, you’ve got to change your diet. Squat lower. Have you got a post-workout shake?”

Louis snorts. “You’ve seen my log.”

“You should start there. Honestly, you need to triple your caloric intake. If you’re going to train like an athlete, you need to fuel your body like one.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He sounds like a motivational poster.

“I’m serious,” Harry says. “It’s not often that I get to tell people they need to eat _more_ to get the body they want. You should embrace it– with healthy choices.”

Louis sets the weights down with a clang. His body is jelly. “You really _are_ trying to fatten me up.”

Harry turns around, but not before Louis catches him dimpling. “Calf raises are next. Get ready.”

—

“What’re you drinking?” Niall asks, gesturing to the blender bottle in Louis’s hand as they set up to begin recording.

“Protein shake,” Louis says, wincing as he sits down at his desk chair. His thighs are on fire. “At first they tasted like chalk, but I’m used to it now.” Harry’d advised him to add a spoonful of peanut butter for some extra protein and fats, and the addition isn’t that bad. He’ll skip Harry’s other suggestion of adding leafy greens, though. One has to draw the line somewhere.

“Wow,” Niall comments. “I’m impressed. You’re really sticking with it.”

“It’s week one.”

“As I said, I’m impressed.”

Louis hits him with his notebook. “Harry’s letting me try a canister of his protein mix. He says if I like it, he can hook me up with his supplier. The stuff at the gym is a lot more expensive.”

“Really? Maybe he can sort me out too.”

“And he emailed me a month-long meal plan.” Louis’d been surprised to open an email from ‘Harry Styles’ when he woke up this morning. Beth had never said anything about trainers providing diet plans. He shouldn’t be so ungrateful, but— “I don’t have the heart to tell him I can hardly boil an egg.”

“Now there’s a good resolution for you. If you’d put some effort into learning to cook, maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

Louis glares at him. “What the fuck are you implying, mate? That he wouldn’t have left me if I’d been a better househusband?”

Niall’s eyes go wide. “Jesus, no! I meant, if you took better care of yourself you wouldn’t need the damn trainer. If Peter hadn’t left you when he did, I would have dumped him for you myself.”

Louis rattles the blender ball around in the bottle. He knows Peter didn’t get along so well with his uni friends, but in private he was different. And just because the way things ended was shit, doesn’t mean they didn’t have good times too. “He wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Niall raises an eyebrow but changes the subject. “What sort of food has he got you eating? Lots of chicken and broccoli?”

“And seafood,” Louis pulls a face. “And avocado toast. Shit I’d never touch. It’s a shame, really.”

“He probably wasn’t expecting you to have the palate of a four-year-old,” Niall snickers. “You should tell him, though. He’s wasting time doing it if you’re not going to use it.”

“Maybe,” Louis hedges. He’d prepared himself to go all in, knew he’d be making some sacrifices, but he truly hates cooking and is not an adventurous eater. “Or maybe he’ll just forget about it.”

Niall cackles loudly. “Right! Your personal trainer will forget about the food plan he’s put his client on. Good luck with that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The fic post!](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/640152673138704384/all-you-need-to-know-is-by-hampalpert-recovering)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A note to non-American/non-Canadian readers: In this chapter, Harry and Louis utilize something called an indoor track. It was mentioned in passing in the first chapter. An indoor track is a common sight at larger American gyms and schools/universities. Basically, it's like an outdoor running track, only smaller and indoors, with a lane or two for walkers, and a lane or two for runners/passing. At my gym, the track is on the second floor and overlooks the basketball court, and wraps around the upstairs cardio equipment. In my high school, the track was in the basement. They're incredibly popular for walkers and runners alike to get off the treadmill and get a little different scenery. My non-American beta, K, and other international friends were very confused by this, so rather than rewrite the scene, I'm making this disclaimer. Also, hit me up and let me know if indoor tracks are common in your country!

Louis’s legs and glutes are still sore when they meet for their next session. The pain has gone from dreading every time he has to sit down, to a lingering reminder he’s building muscle mass.

“Hi Louis,” Harry says when they meet outside the men’s locker room. He’s in his usual getup of windbreaker and workout shorts, with bright yellow Bermuda-length workout spandex underneath. He’s got great thighs, long and lean, and hairier than Louis would have imagined. “It’s chest day today. When’s the last time you used the rack?”

“Erm, never. Mostly just stuck to the machines.” It’s always intimidated him, especially when he was a scrawny teenager. Not that much has changed since, if he’s honest.

“Let’s do a warm-up around the track a few times before we start,” Harry suggests, gesturing to the stairs.

As they ascend, a tattoo peeks out of Harry’s shorts as they pull up with each step. 

“You’ve got some ink?” Louis asks, gesturing to his thigh.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Harry hitches his shorts up further. “It’s a tiger.”

“Sick,” Louis says as they make their way onto the track. Harry sets the pace just slightly faster than comfortable for Louis’s shorter legs. _“_ Heh _. Thigh_ -ger.”

Harry honks abruptly in laughter. “You get it! I also have a heart on my sleeve, and a butterfly on my stomach– well, a moth, technically, but that would ruin the pattern. Oh, and laurels on my hips.”

Louis chuckles, endeared. “So corny.” He pauses, putting it together. “Shouldn’t the laurels be on your arse?”

Harry smirks. “Maybe I’m not the one sitting on them.”

Louis laughs. He can’t help but glance down to Harry’s covered hips, interest piqued. “Alright. So you’ve got a girlfriend, then? Or a partner?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah, I’m single right now. You are too, yeah? Obviously.”

Louis’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “Obviously?” he repeats.

Harry stops in his tracks. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant– you’re trying to get back with your ex. So I just assumed.”

“What?” Louis demands. “No. Noooo. I don’t want him back. I just want him to regret ever leaving.”

Harry nods slowly. “Right.”

Louis scoffs, hackles rising. “You don’t believe me!”

“I believe you,” Harry says. “You’ve no reason to lie to me. I just don’t understand it. I’ve never been in that position.”

“Always the dumper, never the dumpee then?” Louis asks dryly. Of course.

“No, I’ve been dumped,” Harry says. “Believe me. I’ve just gone out of my way never to see my exes again, much less change my entire lifestyle for them.”

“Well, I haven’t got a choice,” Louis says. He’s sweating, from more than the simple warm-up around the track. “We grew up together. Ever since uni, us lads meet up together every New Year’s for a pub crawl. And when I see him, I’d really like to not look like I’m in the exact place he left me.”

“Ah,” Harry says quietly. “That—makes sense.”

Louis tugs on the bottom of his shirt, a nervous habit he’s had since he can remember. “Do you think we’ve warmed up enough yet?” He’s embarrassingly a bit winded, and he’d also like this conversation to end.

“Yes,” Harry says. He looks around as if he’s only just realized they’ve already made several laps. “Yeah, definitely. Let’s head back down to the weights. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one who told you in the first place.” He could curse himself for that now. He can’t seem to stop talking about Peter with the people in his life, even if he works hard not to _think_ about him.

He and Peter were peripherally friends in school, traveling in the same social circle. He recalls always getting a ‘feeling’ about him, that maybe, like Louis, he wasn’t fully straight. It wasn’t until they’d met back up for their first annual pub crawl in Louis’s first year of uni that there was any sort of spark. Peter had shown up with a fresh new cut, skinny jeans, and a tight white tee, showing off tan, wiry muscles Louis did _not_ remember noticing whilst at sixth form. He and Peter were drawn to one another like magnets, and they talked all night about growing up queer in their primarily working-class community. 

The connection was there, but the timing wasn’t right. It wasn’t until some time after the next year’s pub crawl that Peter texted to say he’d received a job offer in Manchester and wondered if Louis was available for dinner. Two years and a shared flat later, Louis threw himself into his new radio venture, and Peter excused himself from their relationship. He blames himself for not taking the warning signs seriously, but he blames Peter for the fallout.

Neither Louis nor Harry make any further small talk as they make their way back to the ground floor. Harry explains the series of exercises as Louis nods along at the right moments, unable to focus on the task at hand.

“You’re looking at me like I have three heads,” Harry tells him at the end of his spiel. “Here, I’ll show you what I mean.” And he unzips his trusty windbreaker and sets it on the weight rack next to their bench.

 _That_ snaps Louis back to attention. Harry’s got tattoos all the way up his arms. His tight tank top accentuates his broad shoulders and tight abs. Louis watches, slack-jawed, as his biceps and forearms bulge when he adds weight to the bar. Then he lies back on the bench and picks up the bar. He makes it look easy as he brings it down to his chest and pushes it back up again, many times in a row. Then he reracks the bar and sits up. There’s just a slight sheen of sweat on his cheeks, arms, and chest (hairless, from what Louis can tell). 

He looks at Louis expectantly.

“Oh,” Louis says, blinking. The sounds of metal against metal and the glare of the fluorescent lights come back into focus. “Is it my turn now?”

Harry laughs, clearly catching onto Louis’s train of thought. “Yes, give it a go.”

Louis steps forward, but hesitates. Harry made it look easy, but Louis’s a limp noodle compared to him. He’ll melt into the ground if he can’t complete the set with the weight Harry’s put on. And the weights area isn’t packed, but there are more than enough people around to watch him make a fool of himself.

“I’ll spot you,” Harry assures him, touching his shoulder. “And trust me, all of these people are too busy watching themselves in the mirror to notice anyone else.”

Louis lies down on the bench.

“Up a little further,” Harry coaches. “Hands here. Perfect. Inhale down, tap your chest gently, then exhale up.”

It’s heavier than he expected, but not impossible to lift. He inhales as he brings it down to his chest, then pushes it up, locking his elbows.

“Great!” Harry says. “Now do eleven more.”

Forty-five minutes later, he’s shockingly sweaty and his pectorals ache for the first time ever. 

“Shall we walk it out on the track?” Harry suggests, as Louis towels himself off liberally.

“As long as you promise not to ask about my ex-boyfriend again,” Louis jokes.

Harry laughs, ducking his head. “I promise.”

They re-enter the track, jogging a bit to get around an older couple walking at a snail’s pace, and then get passed immediately by a man sprinting. Louis swallows a yelp as the man brushes past his shoulder without warning, knocking into Harry’s solid arm as he jolts out of the way on instinct.

“Sorry,” Louis chuckles, embarrassed by his overreaction.

"Don’t be,” Harry says. He touches Louis’s elbow as if to steady him, glaring at the guy’s quickly disappearing back. “They’re supposed to stay on the right.”

The crowd has picked up a bit as they’ve been training. The majority of the cardio machines are in use, Louis notices as they round the corner.

“How come you don’t ever have me cool down on the stair-stepper as you did with Christina?” Louis wonders. It looks terrible, and not at all like a cool down, but he’s curious.

“Well, a lot of my clients list their glutes as a problem area,” Harry explains. “I suppose I assumed it isn’t one of yours.”

Louis nudges Harry playfully. He’s put his windbreaker back on, which is probably for the best. “If you think blokes don’t want great arses, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh I know,” Harry says. “But yours is already great, so…”

Louis’s pulse, already beating quickly, pumps a little harder. “Yeah,” he agrees, smirking. “It’s big enough as it is.”

Harry holds a hand out. “I didn’t mean—“ he stops his apology short when he sees Louis’s face. He grins. “I’m always putting my foot in it around you.”

“I do have that effect on people,” Louis agrees.

Harry laughs. “Yeah, because you’re the hot one.”

Louis stares at him. That phrase sounds too familiar to be a simple compliment, but he can’t quite place why.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you how the meal plan is suiting you,” Harry changes the subject, after a brief, awkward silence. “Have you tried any of the recipes yet?”

Louis laughs guiltily. “Funny you should mention that. I’ve been meaning to tell _you_ that I can’t cook at all. Like, zero percent. And I don’t own half of the ingredients. Also, I hate seafood.”

“Wow,” Harry says. “Zero percent?”

Louis shrugs. His lack of cooking prowess used to be a point of childish pride, but now he’s feeling sheepish and immature. “I can make pasta. Probably. It can’t be too difficult, can it?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should have put that together when I saw how much cereal you eat.”

“No, I should have told you from the beginning. I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, tugging on his lip distractedly. “I’ll come up with something else. Your diet really is important. We can’t have you going backwards. Do you own a slow cooker?”

“I think my mum does,” Louis says.

“They’re great! There are a ton of one-pot dishes out there that take the guesswork out of cooking. You just toss in the ingredients, set the timer, and in a few hours you have a meal.”

Louis considers this. “It sounds too good to be true.”

Harry laughs. “It’s not, I promise. They’re not always the healthiest of meals, but much better than takeaway or eating nothing at all.”

“Alright,” Louis says with a shrug. It can’t hurt to try. “I’ll do it.”

Harry leads them to a small stretching section just off the track once they’ve completed their laps and leads them through some brief stretches. Louis groans in pleasure and pain as he wrings out his sore muscles. 

Harry laughs at the sounds he’s making. “And you say you won’t like yoga.”

Louis’s brow furrows. “Did I say that?” He recalls bemoaning it on air the other day. Maybe he did say something to Harry about it.

Unspoken, they descend the stairs to the main floor together. Louis’s heart rate has gone back to normal, and his sweat is beginning to cool. He shivers.

“You know,” Harry says pensively. “We could go shopping together if you want. That way you can show me what you like in real-time, and I can help you gather ingredients. And we can pick up that slow cooker too if you like. No pressure.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “Do you get paid to do that?”

“Well, no,” Harry admits. “But you’re my last client of the day today because my next client’s husband is having surgery. And I have to clock out anyhow. But that’s only if today works for you. We could do it some other time, too.”

“Today works,” Louis says. “I usually just go home and shower before work, but I can shower here, I suppose.”

“Great!” Harry looks a little too excited to be spending unpaid time doing everyone’s least favorite chore for someone else. “We can both clean up and leave from here.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees. He’s curious what Harry owns for clothing besides that tent of a windbreaker. “Are you going to make me buy vegetables?”

Harry laughs loudly. “Let’s call it gentle suggestions.” He schools his face. “Seriously though, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t want to waste your money or food.”

“I was mostly joking,” Louis says. “I do like vegetables. Some of them, anyway.”

Harry chuckles again. “Good.”

“I haven’t showered in a locker room since upper sixth,” Louis says as they turn the corner into the men’s locker room.

“Oh, it’s great,” Harry says with enthusiasm. He laughs when he catches Louis’s skeptical glance. “I know it sounds weird, but the water gets really hot and never runs out. And the shampoo and body wash are free. Sometimes I even shower here in the morning instead of at home.”

“Wow,” Louis says. “I didn’t know when I showed up today that I’d be having the best shower of my life.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “I didn’t say ‘best’. Now you’re gonna hate it and I’ll look stupid.”

“I’ll lie and say I loved it,” Louis assures him. “My locker’s this way.” He gestures to their right.

“I’m way back there,” Harry says. “Meet you back here in ten?”

“If I can bring myself to leave this amazing shower,” Louis teases. Harry pushes his shoulder playfully, then heads to the back of the room.

Louis hesitated upon opening his locker. Does he strip down here and walk to the shower nude? He should’ve grabbed a towel beforehand. There are men of various levels of undress all around him, so he knows he’s overthinking it. He ends up balling up his change of clothes and heading for the showers, fully dressed.

The shower stalls are separated by concrete walls, with double curtains. A few of them are already occupied. Louis takes his towel and clothes to the end of the row. As he’s closing the first curtain behind him, he catches a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s turned the corner into the shower area, clad in nothing but his yellow spandex shorts and a pair of shower sandals.

Louis yanks the curtain closed in such a panic that it slides open on the other side.

“Fuck,” Louis curses under his breath. He drops his clothes in a puddle on the floor in his haste to straighten out the curtain.

It turns out the taste of Harry’s tattooed arms were nothing compared to the feast of his exposed chest. He does in fact have a large moth on his muscled stomach. And those laurels, the ones to be sat on, angle perfectly toward the most glorious bulge outside of porn that Louis’s ever laid eyes on.

“Fuck,” Louis says again, resting his forehead against the cold tile. He’s in trouble now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The fic post!](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/640152673138704384/all-you-need-to-know-is-by-hampalpert-recovering)


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